


The Way You Are

by Mansaeboysbe



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Angst, Kinda Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mansaeboysbe/pseuds/Mansaeboysbe
Summary: You dumb, ridiculous, stupid boy.” (Street Fighter!AU)





	The Way You Are

**Author's Note:**

> -Admin Bee

The slam of the door behind you resonates throughout the mostly empty apartment. You angrily take off your coat and shoes and shove them into the closet before aggressively pushing past Yugyeom, who is still working on taking off his shoes very, very slowly, trying to stay out of your way. The front door is right beside the kitchen so it takes you no time in stepping over to the freezer and whirling on your heel to chuck an ice pack at his face. He’s lucky he catches it, the frozen packet surely would have darkened the bruise lining the side of his forehead if he hadn’t.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as he brings the pack up. He skirts behind you quickly as to avoid your furious search through the drawers for the first aid kit, already knowing how you’ll want him: sitting up on the counter without saying a word. Just like he does every time you have to fix him up.

“You dumb, ridiculous, stupid boy.”

Yugyeom winces. The sharp sting slowly throbs at his cheekbone as you carefully press cotton to the cut, cleaning away the excess blood from his skin. There’s a lot of blood to clean.

He lets himself take you in while you’re in such close proximity to him. His eyes trace over your features that are currently pinched in concentration, the soft but firm press of your fingers against his cheek, the subtle traces of your laundry detergent coming from your shirt. It’s his favorite shirt, the one he had bought you for Christmas last year. You wore his favorite shirt to a fight.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this, Gyeom. You could have seriously gotten hurt. You’re lucky JB only punched you once.”

He shifts in his seat, feeling the sharp pain in his ribs reminding him that while the older boy may have only punched once, he kicked quite a few times.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t think it was going to be that bad.”  
“Sorry doesn’t do enough. Provoking the strongest fighter in the city, in the country, I might add, was the most idiotic thing you could have done.”

“I didn’t know JB would be that hard on me! If I had known I might have…” he pulls away from your doctoring to search for an explanation with a wave of his hands, “I don’t know, punched him in the throat or strangled him or something.”

You pause in rummaging through the first aid kit at his words, “Strangled him?”

“I don’t know, probably not. What do you want me to say?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t fight at all,” you admit. Carefully you place a band-aid against the cleaned cut on his cheek, smoothing your hand over the latex and tracing the bruise beginning to form under his eye.

Yugyeom sighs, moving to wrap his arms around your waist to pull you to him, “I know, babe, but it comes with the job title.”

“Maybe if you just-”

“Y/N,” he warns in a low voice that ceases your suggestion, “we’ve talked about this before and you already know it’s not an option.”

He was right. But you weren’t going down without a fight.

“I talked to the guys from the dance school again,” you lean against the counter that he’s currently sitting on and his hold gets tighter, “if you’d just go in and audition, they’re willing to take you in.”

“And how are we going to pay the tuition fee?” He challenges.

“We have savings. And I can pick up extra shifts. Hell, I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind lending us-“

“Because the last time they lent us money went so well.”

“Gyeom,” you shift so you’re tightly gripping both of his knees, “I’m trying to give you options.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You’re being stubborn,” you push out of his hold and start aggressively cleaning up the first aid supplies, “Being realistic is realizing that you still have a chance to live your dream even though you got mixed up in this street fighting mess-”

“Hey-”

“No! It’s true and you’re too afraid to admit it, but there’s still a chance for you.”

He pushes off of the counter to follow your path from the kitchen into the small attached bedroom, “We talked about this when I got into the sport in the first place, why are you acting like you care so much now?”

“Because I do care, you idiot!” You turn to face him for the first time and there’s no hiding the tears threatening to fall now, “Alright, fine. You want to know why I’d rather have you enrolled in a dance school that you talked about constantly growing up?”

He harshly takes a seat on the bed, “Enlighten me.”

“Because when I turned the corner in that alleyway after you left the ring to see you lying on the ground, I thought you were dead. In the five seconds it took me to get to your body, all I could think about was how I’d done nothing to stop you from leaving earlier. In those five seconds, I had to accept that the boy I was in love with was possibly lying dead in a dirty alleyway for God knows how long. And I wasn’t there. If you had died, you would have been alone. And you deserve so, so much more than that.”

Yugyeom is quiet, something very rare for the usually energetic boy. You wait for him to say something, you’ll accept anything outside of silence right now, but if he’s determined to be stubborn, there was no changing his mind. With a sigh, you shake your head, mumbling a soft “alright” before going to leave the room. However, a hand around your wrist stops you from leaving, pulling you back into his reach until he’s guided you to sit on the bed beside him.

He wraps his arms around you again until you’re buried in his chest, too tired to cry.

“I’m sorry for being reckless. And stupid.”

“I just want you to be safe,” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

He sighs, running his fingers through your hair in a comforting gesture, “I can’t promise.”

“Making more of an effort would be a good start.”

He lets the tiniest of smiles tug on the edge of his lips, bending down to hide it with a kiss to the top of your head, “I can do that.”


End file.
